Touch (DI Charlotte Savage)

by Mark Sennen

‘Ambulance chasers?’

  ‘Those are the ones. Bloody tossers if you ask me.’

  ‘So why didn’t you dismiss him?’

  ‘Couldn’t prove he was the one. Other people had access to the yacht and none of the lads involved would say a word. Plus an audit of our own systems showed the practice of downloading porn was widespread, although mostly just the soft stuff.’

  ‘Hence the reluctance of the others to talk much about it.’

  Redmond nodded. ‘You got it. We disciplined the lot of them and I gave the girl a promotion. She shut up after that. Clever lass, knows which side her bread is buttered. Anyway, once he got the ABH conviction it was the chance I needed to get rid of him and good riddance.’

  ‘Was Forester popular?’

  ‘He was a bragger and towards the end he seemed to have plenty of money to spend. People will listen to your stories if you buy them enough drinks. I am not sure if he was what I would call popular though. For instance he bought this flash new motor, a big Shogun, and I think some of the lads were getting a bit jealous. He obviously hadn’t purchased the car on the money we paid him, and rubbing your mates’ noses in it doesn’t tend to endear you to people.’

  ‘Did you know if Forester had a girlfriend?’ Riley asked.

  ‘Heard him talking about one, sure. He couldn’t tell the lads enough about her. Big tits, tight pussy, liked humping doggie style. Sorry about the language, his words, not mine. I thought the girl was all in his head myself.’

  Riley pulled out the picture of Kelly and showed it to Redmond.

  ‘Mind if I show this around, see if anyone here recognises her?’

  Redmond went pale and swallowed hard.

  ‘Bloody hell!’

  ‘Mr Redmond?’

  ‘The girl in the movie. The one with the beer bottle. It’s her.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Let’s just say I never forget a face, shall we?’

  Chapter 9

  Harry stopped washing the dishes and went to switch the radio off. He chewed his tongue while he mulled over the latest bulletin: the police had found Trinny. The news worried him, although Trinny wouldn’t tell them anything. She might have a loud mouth, but she would keep it shut for him. Still, it might be sensible to stay away from town. At least for a while. To let things calm down. He would cancel some of his appointments, say he was sick. Which he was. Very. Anyway, he had the new girl to deal with. He couldn’t leave her all on her own day after day. She would get lonely.

  When he had got her back to his place she was already unconscious so he stripped her naked and laid her out to examine her. Perfection in a little over five feet. Beautiful. Mind you they all appeared so. At first.

  Emma would be different, he knew she would. Just the name caused butterflies in his stomach.

  Not her real name of course, but she wouldn’t be using that again. Emma was her special name. Harry’s name. He had written it in big letters on the first page of the luxurious black leather notebook he had bought for her. All the other pages remained blank. White, virginal and untouched. If things worked out between them he would write nice things in the book and they could look over it together. If things didn’t work out he knew he had to write down all the nasty stuff he discovered. An unpleasant task, but necessary in case anyone found out about his secrets. He would need evidence then. That’s what they used in court. Evidence.

  Maybe if he did get caught he could hire the lawyer. The one with the stockings. Or was he confusing her with his doctor’s secretary? Whatever, she looked a bit dirty which meant she would understand his problems. If she looked through his notes she would be able to find material in there to exonerate him.

  Hell. He was getting ahead of himself. He hadn’t been caught yet and Emma hadn’t been given a chance either. He was condemning them both without a fair trial.

  Trinny had been given a fair trial. She had a chance but failed. Two whole weeks of cleaning and she had still been too desirable. Desire turned love into lust and flesh into the apple of corruption. The Bible said so and the Bible couldn’t be wrong, could it? He remembered when he had been little Trinny held him and he felt nothing but love. When he held the new Trinny he wanted her. The sensation repulsed him. If you fucked somebody you didn’t love them. He learnt that the hard way as a kid, and Mitchell showed him too. The lesson had to be applied to his search for his angel. Angels were pure. Spotless.

  He walked back to the sink and plunged his hands into the foam. The water scalded, but it needed to be hot to eat away at the dirt. This was the second time he had washed the plates. Once more after this should be enough. Rinse, wash, rinse, wash, rinse, wash, rinse. Back in the flat he would simply run the dishwasher cycle a few times, but out here he had no mod cons so keeping things clean proved difficult.

  Trinny hadn’t been clean from the start but it wasn’t her fault. Her boyfriend, a half-wit from the slums, contaminated her and the seed spread, decomposing her from within, spoiling her before Harry had ever met her. But Harry hadn’t known about the boyfriend so he couldn’t have guessed the trouble Trinny would cause.

  The selection took longer with Lucy but it hadn’t worked out with her either. He had made copious notes, observing her before he ever went near her, but always knowing a more hands-on approach would be needed. Satisfied everything looked right he collected her. Then he used the spy hole into the little room to watch some more as she went through his detox routine. Finally he examined her properly. He hadn’t liked the procedure and neither had she. She screamed when he touched her. The problems started then.

  Harry finished the plates, giving them a final rinse to make sure. Poor Lucy, she had failed. Like Trinny before her, she was not the one he wished to choose and she would have to leave as well.

  Emma wouldn’t be leaving though, she would stay. And hopefully she would live.

  Chapter 10

  Yelverton, Devon. Wednesday 27th October. 11.30 am

  Savage never liked meeting the parents. It wasn’t that she had no sympathy for their plight; quite the opposite. She found she empathised with them all too easily, and that was a problem. She was glad in this case the news about Kelly had already been broken to Mr and Mrs Donal and that a family liaison officer would be present when she and Calter arrived for their meeting.

  The village of Yelverton lay some five miles north of Plymouth and the drive up there offered fine views of Dartmoor off to the right, or rather it would have if low cloud hadn’t been obscuring the tops. They reached the village early and parked in the car park on the green next to the cluster of local shops. If village life was supposed to be dying Yelverton must be the exception that proved the rule, thought Savage, since the place was buzzing. The CoOp and the delicatessen had a constant stream of people going in and out and there was a hairdressing salon, a pharmacy, a couple of estate agents and a garage as well.

  ‘Too much money and time, ma’am.’ Calter indicated the woman getting out of the royal blue Mercedes that had just pulled up next to them. The brand new car with white leather seats contrasted with the woman’s grubby Barbour jacket and Hunter wellies. ‘I bet she has a Doctor husband who works at the hospital.’

  ‘Lucky girl. Perhaps if you socialised somewhere other than Union Street you might get to meet one too.’

  ‘Thanks, boss. I wondered where I was going wrong. You know it’s my ambition to end up in Aga Saga country.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘No!’ Calter said, shaking her head and laughing. ‘I couldn’t stand living out here. All those people with bits of straw sticking out of their ears. Like Mr Isaacs, for instance.’

  ‘I very much doubt if ninety-five per cent of the people in Yelverton know one end of a cow from another unless it is packaged up on the counter at Waitrose with a big label on top.’

  ‘Wot, no Lidl? On my salary anything above a Scummerfields is a complete non-starter.’

  Savage looked at the dashboard clock. Time to go.

 
‘Come on,’ she said, and they got out of the car and walked across to the row of houses where the Donals lived.

  Greenbank Terrace stood well back from the main road, the tall three storey Edwardian houses running down one side of an unmade up track. The front gardens overlooked the trim village green and several properties bore bed and breakfast signs, having taken advantage of the prime location. Dartmoor View, the Donals’ house, had a B&B sign outside too, only a board had been attached to the underneath which said ‘No Vacancies.’

  ‘A386 View would be a better name,’ quipped Calter as they approached.

  Savage started to remark that you might be able to see something from the top floor when the front door opened and Luke Farrell, the FLO, came out. Farrell had a tangle of straw-blond hair sitting above the type of face people called open and his welcoming smile never failed to lift the spirits. Hardin had labelled him a genius at family liaison because he somehow became the elder brother you never had or the caring grandson always ready to help out. His skill was providing the right amount of support without laying the sympathy on treacle-thick.

  ‘Saw you coming, ma’am. I wanted a quick word before you went in.’

  ‘What sort of state are they in, Luke?’ As soon as Savage had asked the question she realised it was a stupid remark. Their eldest daughter had been missing for three months and had now turned up dead. They weren’t going to be overjoyed at meeting Savage and Calter, for sure.

  ‘Mrs Donal – Cathy – has been hysterical, blames everything on Kelly’s modelling. He is just brooding. Reactions typical of their gender. I have to warn you, though, Mr Donal is pretty disgusted with the police. He reckons if we had shown more interest when she first went missing then she might still be alive now.’

  ‘He could be right.’

  ‘With respect, ma’am, I wouldn’t tell him that.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t!’

  ‘I think the disgust with the police is a psychological projection. He is more disgusted with himself. Any anger he shows towards you is a coping strategy.’

  ‘To cope with what, Kelly’s death?’ Savage asked.

  ‘No, the guilt.’

  ‘Guilt?’

  ‘Yes. Beyond that which any parent might understandably feel. If Mr Donal hadn’t encouraged Kelly in her modelling she might never had met Forester.’

  ‘What? According to the DC who re-interviewed her flatmate, Kelly first met Forester at the Metropolis club in town. Are you saying Donal had something to do with this?’ Savage turned to Calter. ‘Why don’t we know this already?’

  ‘I am not sure, ma’am.’ Calter looked contrite and pulled out her notebook as if to double-check.

  ‘Someone hasn’t delved deep enough,’ Farrell said. ‘They did meet at the Metropolis but not at a club night. It was in the daytime. A camera club had hired the place for a meet and set it up as a mock pole dancing venue. Kelly was one of the models.’

  ‘What club was this?’

  ‘Plymouth Snappers.’ Farrell pointed at the rear of a Ford Galaxy parked in the road outside the house. A sticker in the rear window depicted a grinning cartoon shark holding a camera. ‘Legit club, but they had a glamour section into some pretty risqué stuff.’

  ‘And her parents approved of this?’

  ‘Approved? Mr Donal suggested the shoot. He was at the club taking pictures.’

  ‘Fuck!’ It was Calter and she immediately put her hand to her mouth. ‘Sorry, but he was her father. I wouldn’t want my dad taking pictures of me half-naked with my boobs hanging out. And anyway I thought you said they didn’t think much of what she was up to?’

  ‘I said Mrs Donal didn’t.’ Farrell smiled as if he couldn’t help but imagine Calter doing a bit of pole dancing. ‘She didn’t realise half of what was going on. She thought Kelly was only doing the usual kind of modelling. By which I mean with clothes on.’

  ‘Thanks for the heads up, Luke.’ Savage said. ‘Good work and valuable information, it fits with what DS Riley found out at Forester’s workplace. Shall we?’ Savage indicated the door, and Farrell led the way over the threshold and into the neat hall with an imposing grandfather clock, polite little notices, a boot rack and a shelf of guidebooks.

  Several photographs hung on the walls: an atmospheric shot of Dartmoor in the mist and rain, a stunning snowscape with a single set of footprints leading to the horizon, a beautiful beck with bluebells in the foreground. Each had neat little paper stickers in the bottom right corner with a price written on. The images weren’t of Savage’s favourite subject, but she imagined they would sell well to the guests.

  Farrell led them down the hallway and stopped at a door which had a ‘Private’ sign on it. He knocked and entered. They went into a living room where Mr and Mrs Donal sat waiting. More photographs hung on the walls in here. Not landscapes though. Above the fireplace a huge print of a girl with big doe eyes stared into the room. She had sleek brown hair and the sort of figure many women would die for. And men might kill for. Savage averted her gaze and moved forward to greet the parents. Mrs Donal, a slight woman with brown hair like her daughter’s but gone part grey, was slumped on a Laura Ashley patterned sofa and registered their presence with a mere glance. In happier times Savage guessed she would have been the perfect B&B hostess, busying herself with rustling up some tea and homemade biscuits. Mr Donal, on the other hand, did not behave like the perfect host as he sneered and leapt to his feet. He was late middle-aged, perhaps older, big and heavy-set and with a face like a round tomato, all red and glowing and ready to burst. He reminded Savage a little of Hardin.

  ‘More police?’ Donal said, not hiding his disgust and not offering his hand either.

  ‘Detective Inspector Charlotte Savage. We just have a few more questions, Mr Donal.’

  ‘A lifetime of questions. That’s what I’ve got.’

  ‘It’s about Kelly.’

  ‘Oh? I didn’t think you’d come about neighbourhood watch, did I?’

  ‘I am sorry this is painful for you, Mr Donal, it is for all of us.’

  ‘Painful? Painful! I have never really been hurt before. Not really hurt. Have you experienced the type of hurt I am talking about, Inspector? The sort of pain that is nothing? Empty pain, agony at night when you put out the light and then worse when the sun streams in the windows the next morning.’ Donal stood rocking on his heels.

  Savage had known pain like that when Clarissa had died, but she didn’t think telling Donal about it would do much good. Instead she started off with the usual stuff about how sorry the whole force was and offered their condolences and sympathies. The standard spiel sounded like crap and she found herself faltering halfway through. She felt Farrell’s hand on her arm.

  ‘They know all that, ma’am,’ he whispered. ‘They–’

  ‘We just want you to catch the bastard who did this to our Kelly,’ Mrs Donal blurted out, before the tears came and her head went down into her hands.

  Farrell moved over and crouched by the chair and said something Savage didn’t catch. He then stood and helped Mrs Donal to her feet and led her from the room.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Mr Donal said. ‘The wife has taken it bad. Kelly was our youngest, our little girl if you like, and well, the wife is... I mean she’s... well, I... she didn’t much like–’

  ‘She blames you, Mr Donal, is that what you are getting at?’ Savage said, indicating the pictures on the walls. ‘I am not surprised. I mean, Kelly was a beautiful girl, but there is more to her modelling career than this stuff, isn’t there? The porn? Your daughter wrapped around that pole with a group of sad men baying for her to get her tits out. Can’t say it is what I would want for my daughter, but each to their own, I suppose.’

  ‘Boss,’ Calter hissed. ‘Shouldn’t we wait for Luke–’

  ‘That sort of thing doesn’t leave much to the imagination does it?’ Savage continued. ‘And the trouble is for some of these men imagination is not enough. Jerking off to some image on t
heir computer screens is OK for a bit, but in the end they always end up wanting what they can’t have. Isn’t that right, Mr Donal?’

  ‘Ma’am!’ Calter was louder now, urging Savage to stop. ‘I really need to ask you to consider what–’

  ‘Isn’t that fucking right, Mr Donal? Does your wife know about the porn? Does she know about the videos? The stuff on the internet? What will she say if we ask her?’

  ‘Of course she doesn’t! For God’s sake shut up, will you?’ Mr Donal collapsed on the sofa, hands to his face.

  Savage drew breath, aware of Calter staring at her open mouthed.

  ‘Detective Constable? Was there something you wanted to say?’

  ‘Er, no, ma’am.’

  ‘Mr Donal,’ Savage went over to the sofa and sat down beside him. Her voice quieter now she had said her piece. ‘I don’t like any of that stuff. I don’t like seeing girls draped over cars. I don’t like seeing female celebrities thinking that showing half their bodies off is necessary when all it does is show how thick they are. When I think of my own daughter, I don’t like the fact I can count female role models who deign not to get their kit off for some men’s mag on the fingers of one hand. However, I never forget that whatever we, as girls and women, do, the men do the looking and in the end the men commit the crimes. All of which means I am going to try my hardest to get Kelly’s killer. Whatever it takes.’

  Mr Donal looked up, drew in a large breath and let it out, pursing his lips as if about to whistle, but instead making a long, tuneless hiss.

  ‘It started so young,’ he said, unburdening himself without prompting. ‘Just family pictures, family snaps. But even years back we could see she was different. Then she was the carnival queen one year and a local photographer asked if she would pose for him. Of course I went along too, and that’s how I began to get interested.’

  ‘You took up photography?’

  ‘I had dabbled before, but I bought a better camera and some studio equipment and joined the Plymouth Snappers. They saw my pictures of Kelly and wanted her for a shoot. For the first couple of years it was innocent enough stuff, fashion shots and the like. But she was growing up, filling out and soon some of the members were asking for more. Trouble was Kelly loved it, loved the attention, loved the fawning. When she was around fifteen there was a night where she was dressed in club gear, nothing outrageous, the sort of thing all young girls wear. Anyway, one member jokingly asked her to take off her top and she did. Just like that, bra and all. I should have stepped in and called a halt, but I didn’t. As soon as she was sixteen she went topless legitimately and they couldn’t get enough. We had glamour shoots with clubs visiting from all over the South West.’